


Sherlock Holmes Doesn't Eat During Cases

by Stuffy (AlexKingOfTheDamned)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly worship, Binging, Food Kink, Forceful John, Kink Discovery, M/M, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/Stuffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes doesn't eat during cases, so when a case is particularly long, he has to make up for it as soon as it closes. This is a story which explores that, and John finds out that he has a brand-new kink he's never even heard of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Holmes Doesn't Eat During Cases

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING 
> 
> This story contains belly stuffing/overeating. If this bothers you, then get the hell out and read something fluffy you will enjoy more. 
> 
> I wrote this basically because there is an unacceptable lack of this kink across the fandom universes, and I wanted to change that.

John Watson was on his way home from a particularly stressful double-shift at the surgery, contemplating if it was worth it to start a smoking habit. He’d heard it was calming. This particular double-shift came immediately after an exhausting four-day case. He’d been running all over hell and yonder with Sherlock, who never seemed to get tired no matter what. About ready to tear out his hair, he almost hailed a cab when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. Searching for it in his trousers, a cab went wheeling by and splashed him with a large, muddy puddle. He cursed loudly after the driver and finally fished his phone out of his pocket.

 

“ _What?!_ ” he yelled angrily into the receiver.

 

Sherlock Holmes on the other end of the line jumped at the volume and ferocity with which John answered his phone.

 

“Bad time?” he asked quietly.

 

“Sherlock. Dammit, I’m sorry, I – ”

 

“You don’t need to explain. I have a request to make. Stop by my favorite Chinese take away tonight. I’ll need three orders of that shrimp I like, two of teriyaki chicken, two pints of white rice, and a dozen dumplings. Mh, dozen and a half. You’ve still got my card with you, you can just use that to charge. Bring it home with you please. Do you need me to repeat myself or can you remember?”

 

John remained silent on the other end of the line, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep from yelling. When he did speak, his voice was controlled and a little threatening, going straight to the first reason he could think of as to why he'd need _that_ much food. "Are you having people over? Some of your homeless connection? I really can't bloody deal with a whole troupe of people in the flat right now, Sherlock."

 

“Relax, John. Take a deep breath. I’ll see you when you get home. Don’t forget anything I asked for, please.” Sherlock said, before hanging up.

 

John's teeth ground as Sherlock hung up before he could get another word in. He contemplated not getting him a bloody thing he asked for, but reasoned that the whining he'd get if he didn't really wasn't worth the spite.

  
He stopped off at Sherlock's favored Chinese place, collecting the food which he'd _almost_ gotten right, getting an extra half dozen dumplings as he struggled to remember, as well as a thing of fried rice for himself.

  
It took him a half hour longer to return home than it would have, and the fact alone had him stomping up the stairs and dumping the bags unceremoniously on the couch, beside Sherlock.

 

“What took you?” Sherlock asked as he began to lay the food out on the table. John couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t another soul in the flat.

 

"All this bloody food is what took me, prat." He muttered, glancing around and deciding he didn't care what his insane flatmate was intending to do with all the food until he'd had a very long, very hot shower and some peace of mind to deal with this. He took his fried rice from the bag and put in his armchair, pulling off his jacket and heading to the bathroom without another word.

 

“Would you like me to put that in the oven for you so it doesn’t get cold?” Sherlock asked as his flatmate made his way towards the bathroom.

 

"No, leave it. Don't mind it cold." He said over his shoulder, pausing for a moment before continuing into the bathroom.  
His shower was long and hot as promised, and very little of it was spent cleaning; rather just standing under the hot spray and thinking and not thinking. He opted just to put his robe on when he got out, not having any clean clothes in there, and left the steamy warmth of the bathroom.

 

He glanced at the hall clock as he walked past it, laughing bitterly to himself. He’d spent almost forty-five minutes in the shower. He headed back to the living room and could see that his rice had been moved to the kitchen table. Walking past the couch without so much as glancing at Sherlock, he opened up the container and took a bite of his rice.

 

He was about to address the detective when he heard a quiet moan behind him. An odd sort of shiver ran up John’s spine and he whirled around, not sure what he was expecting – or hoping – would be on the couch.

 

The Chinese containers were all open and strewn about, food half-eaten in some, completely gone in others. The shrimp and vegetables had been demolished, half the chicken was gone, one pint of white rice had vanished, and two thirds of the dumplings. Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch, looking terribly pleased with himself, moaning quietly and rubbing his stomach. John could hardly believe his eyes at the sight of Sherlock.

 

Flushed pink in the face with his eyes shut contentedly, a catlike smile curling his lips, Sherlock was bloated in the middle so round it looked like he’d quite abruptly developed five months into a pregnancy. Heavier around the bottom, it tapered away from his ribcage to settle low on his hips. His sweat trousers were pushed down so far beneath his burgeoning middle, it revealed the beginnings of the trail of hairs that snuck down below.

His shirt was hiked up to reveal the entirety of it, smooth and pale and distended to the point Sherlock’s breaths were coming in shallow, hiccupping gasps. His head was tilted back and he let out another groan as a loud gurgle sounded from his rounded middle. He shivered visibly on the couch, running both his hands up his gurgling midsection.

 

John' first reaction to be disgusted and call Sherlock a bit of a pig died the moment his eyes laid on the detective; belly distended obscenely, clothes hiked out of the way to reveal his midsection in it's entirety. He swallowed hard, any feelings of being disturbed morphing into utter fascination, tinged with something he refused to acknowledge at the present time.  
He moved to sit at the other end of the couch, watching Sherlock rub his stomach with the languid satisfaction one often sees on cats. "You've, uh, been busy, I see."

 

“Long case.” Sherlock muttered thickly. He hiccupped, and his whole body bounced weakly on the cushions. “Can’t eat during.”

 

John had to fight a most unwelcome groan as he watched Sherlock's entire body move with his hiccup. "So, you're overeating to... compensate." He hesitated for a moment, before shuffling closer, running his index finger over the rounded line of his stomach.

 

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock moaned, exhaling with a puff, his back arching immediately to the touch. “Tight… it’s a little painful. Extra pressure doesn’t help.”

 

This time, John couldn't stop himself from letting out a sound of approval as Sherlock moaned his name in half-hearted protest, his back arching. John set his rice down in his lap and rested his hand lightly over Sherlock's belly, fingers splaying to cover more area. "Jesus..." He murmured, feeling how taught his skin was. He pulled away after a moment and held his container of rice in front of Sherlock. "Eat."

 

Sherlock felt a strange pressure move down from his stomach to settle in his groin.

 

“ _What?_ ” he asked, his stomach gurgling loudly as he tried to process the ridiculous order he’d just received. “I already _have_ , are you blind?”

 

John looked up from Sherlock's stomach, his pupils a little bit more blown than could be written off by the lighting. He stared seriously into his eyes for a moment, and then glanced back to the rice, throwing away inhibitions and keeping his voice low and commanding. "Sherlock, eat the rice."

 

Sherlock looked his flatmate over with a discerning eye. Dilated pupils, quickened breathing, flushed face.

 

“John, you’re aroused.”

 

John swallowed audibly, but didn't remove the determined expression from his face, nor retract the container of rice back to his own person. "Suppose I am. Do you _know_ how you look right now?"

 

“Swollen.” Sherlock smirked. “I didn’t know you were into that, John.”

 

John scowled at his flatmate, licking his lips unconsciously. "Neither did I. But _fuck_ , Sherlock. I've never seen anyone eat like this before."

 

Pushing himself up onto his elbows with a low groan, Sherlock’s stomach gurgled loudly in protest to his movement.

 

“So you’re getting off on this. Congratulations, you’ve obtained your first fetish. I still don’t see how you’re expecting me to eat any _more_.” He let his head fall back a little, staring down his nose at John. His lips were swollen and red from overeating, a stark contrast to the pale pink they usually were.

 

John lifted his eyebrows at the offhand comment, shifting slightly closer. "I _never_ said it was my first fetish, Sherlock. I just never knew I liked... _this_ , before." He murmured, prodding his protruding stomach a little. "And I'm not expecting you to, I'm challenging you to. I _know_ you can eat more."

 

Sherlock let out another weak moan when John touched his stomach, and he arched his back gently to press into the touch.

 

“Hmm… and what’s in it for me?”

John shrugged a shoulder, letting his hand smooth over the taught, pale skin once more, rubbing very gently. "Not sure, what do you want?"

 

Sherlock thought for a very long time, tapping three fingers on his belly as he processed requests.

 

John waited patiently for Sherlock to answer, wondering whether he would at all, when he did, in fact, answer

 

“I want a blow.”

 

“A wh- ”

 

“You heard me. Now it’s up to you to decide how badly you want me to eat.” Sherlock purred.

 

John stared at him blankly for a long moment, and then he moved the container of rice closer to him, eyebrows twitching up slightly. "Eat the rice."

 

Sherlock sucked in a breath through his nose. Shocked into submission was an understatement, and his lips hung open briefly.

 

A shiver raced through him. He’d been meaning it partially in jest – he’d been sure John would deny him. The knowledge that John was consenting to this…

Suddenly a stomach ache seemed like a worthy payment.

Or rather, a worse stomachache.

 

“John, that is _your_ dinner. I’ve still got plenty left on the table there, I don’t want to eat your food too.”

 

John grinned at his flatmate's evident shock and surprise, and conceded his point, setting his rice down on the table and looking over what was left, before getting the last container of plain white rice, several dumplings, and some of the teriyaki chicken. He lifted a dumpling to Sherlock's mouth and looked at him expectantly. 

 

“You’re going to _feed_ me?” Sherlock couldn’t help but be enticed by the thought. Licking his lips, he parted them a moment later, making full eye contact with John as he offered his tongue forward. He took the dumpling into his mouth, as well as John’s fingertips, running his tongue along the pads of his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with the other man.

 

He was already feeling aroused himself, his eyes burning as they made contact with John’s. He barely even registered the small spike of pain that came when he swallowed the dumpling almost completely whole.

John breathed a curse quietly as Sherlock's tongue licked over his fingertips, keeping eye contact. He bit the inside of his cheek, reaching for a bit of the sauce covered chicken and offering it to him, his free hand moving to slowly rub over his delightfully extended belly, hoping he could get it just that little bit bigger.

 

When John extended the chicken at the same time he rubbed Sherlock’s belly, the detective let out a loud groan and bucked himself towards the touch. His chin hit John’s wrist, and sauce drizzled onto his neck, slowly sliding down his throat to pool into his collarbone. Seizing John’s hand – seeing as he’d become very distracted watching the sauce dribble down – Sherlock bit down on the doctor’s fingers ever so slightly as he took the chicken from them.

 

“Don’t just stare.” He said after he’d swallowed, his stomach giving a pitiful protest. “Lick it up.”

 

John was only happy to comply, tilting Sherlock's head away with a nudge to his jaw and lowering his head to lick the sauce from the dip where his collarbone bowed inwards, slowly as he liked, making his way up his throat and neck until he was completely clean again, spit-slicked, but free of sauce. He scooped up a bit of the rice with his fingers, coaxing Sherlock's mouth open.

 

Sherlock moaned loudly as John’s tongue trailed up his throat, and he felt a lurch in his pants. “ _John_ ,” he whispered throatily, his stomach giving a loud gurgle. His hips ground upwards towards nothing as heat surged to his pelvis.

 

Opening his mouth, he accepted the rice as well as John’s fingers, sucking them in farther this time, swallowing around his fingertips, his lips pursed around the doctor’s knuckles.

 

John felt Sherlock's hips rise against nothing and smirked, though his retort died on his tongue as the detective sucked his fingers into his mouth, felt his throat contract around the ends of his fingers and stared lustily at his mouth, mind blank for a long moment.

He withdrew his fingers with a moan picked up another dumpling, smearing it in the chicken's sauce for variety and holding it up expectantly to his lips.

 

Sherlock took it into his mouth, watching John’s expression closely as he used the slickness of the teriyaki sauce to swallow the dumpling whole. It hurt his throat, but he knew John had just watched his throat distend to allow it to pass.

 

John's hand flew up into Sherlock's hair to ground himself as he watched Sherlock swallow the bloody thing _whole._ He bit his tongue hard, waiting until there was no sign of the dumpling before looking back up at his flatmate, face inches away from his at this point. "Did you just... didn't that hurt?" His voice was strained even to his own ears. 

 

“So does this,” Sherlock said, arching his back to press his swollen middle into John’s own flat stomach. “It’s the good kind of hurt, John. More.”

John nodded in acknowledgement shifting slightly so he was kneeling, his legs either side of one of Sherlock's as he scooped up a bit of rice with the chicken and sauce, tilting Sherlock's chin to let the food slide right into his mouth.

 

Sherlock’s whole torso seemed to ripple as he swallowed. His stomach moved as one whole entity, the contents packed so tightly that he couldn’t have sucked in his midsection even one centimeter. He swallowed it whole again, and nearly choked when John reacted by grinding his hips forward into the underside of his belly.

 

Coughing and moaning wildly, Sherlock threw his head back. Feeling John’s half-stiff, clothed erection grinding into his swollen belly nearly made him break out in tears of bliss.

 

Honestly, John couldn't have stopped himself from grinding against Sherlock's distended belly if he'd _tried,_ watching him swallow the mouthful whole. He probably ought not to have been so happy with the coughing and moaning that Sherlock emitted, but he was well beyond decency at this point. His thigh inadvertently pressed against Sherlock's own crotch as he continued to rut against Sherlock's stomach, though he had the common sense to be a bit gentler. He broke a dumpling in half, not wanting to him to choke properly, and fed him each one at a time.

 

“John, _yes_.” Sherlock moaned aloud as he took the time to chew and swallow. His throat was beginning to feel a little bit raw.

 

With every swallow he took, his stomach swelled by a small fraction. He could certainly feel it more than John could see it, and he knew the doctor was frustrated by the slow increments that they were moving at.

 

“Rice. White rice and a spoon.” Sherlock suddenly commanded, pushing himself upright so he could sit off-balanced against the arm rest of the couch. “And soy sauce. The whole bottle.”

 

John nodded once, moving from the couch to grab a spoon off the table and the bottle of soy sauce, then move to sit infront of him again. He looked at Sherlock quizzically as he held the bottle up to him, "Do I pour the sauce into the rice, or..?"

 

Sitting completely upright now, Sherlock’s belly was almost resting in his lap, it was so round and heavy. He shivered at the transition of weight, allowing his stomach to creak and gurgle for a few seconds before taking the bottle from John. He poured a large content of the dark, salty liquid onto the white rice, until it was less sticky and more slick. Pausing to set the container in what was left of his lap, Sherlock pulled the hem of his shirt up so John could continue to see his belly. It was tight and rest directly above his gurgling middle, hugging his ribcage tightly.

 

“Hold on tight, John.” Sherlock teased.

 

With the slickness of the rice, as well as its already pliable, soft nature, Sherlock tilted his head back and could practically drink the grain. It was a little more salty than he would have liked, but he knew the look on John’s face would be worth it. He used the spoon to shovel the rice forward, taking large almost painful gulps as he went. His stomach ached at this point and he almost wanted to cry, but he pressed on. It would all be worth it.

 

Chewing every now and then just once or twice when his mouth was too full, Sherlock continued to swallow and swallow and swallow, his stomach swelling steadily outward as he went. It was sitting in his lap now, and Sherlock had to tilt the container back so far, John could watch his Adam’s apple bob with each heavy swallow.

 

John remained completely silent as he watched Sherlock practically drinking the rice out of the container, swallowing continually, John distantly realized Sherlock must be breathing through his nose somehow because was not coming up for air at all. His eyes were transfixed on his mouth, his face, his bobbing Adam's apple, and he felt like he might internally combust from watching it. 

 

Once he'd finished, not a grain of white rice left in the container, John looked down at Sherlock's belly, noticing finally that it had grew even further with the rice. He whimpered quietly and reached out, smoothing both hands over tight flesh covering a no-doubt painfully full belly. He moved forward to trail kisses down his chest to the distended stomach in question, kissing and caressing the taught skin almost reverently.

 

"Fuck, you're beautiful like this."

 

Panting, his back deeply bowed, Sherlock’s fingers tangled in John’s short hair as he planted kisses all up and down his body. The detective was at full mast at this point, his erection pressing harshly against his sweat pants.

 

Breathing heavily as he laid back on the couch, John leaning over him, the paler man turned his head to take inventory. Although John was up on his hands and knees, Sherlock’s belly was brushing his own.

 

“Three dumplings left… and almost an entire portion of chicken. I don’t know if I can…” Sherlock groaned, his back arching when John dipped his body low to grind his own empty stomach against Sherlock’s round middle.

"You can, you can do it, I know you can. Not much more, and you'll be even bigger, so bloody perfect." He rambled on as he reached for the container, absolutely _loving_ the feel of Sherlock's hugely swollen belly pressed against his own as of yet starvingly empty one. He lifted a dumpling to his mouth, coaxing it open with his thumb and sliding the food inside manually.

 

Sherlock chewed and swallowed the dumpling carefully, almost choking as his throat protested taking in still more food. As if trying to remind him he was in pain, a stabbing jolt shot through Sherlock’s belly as he forced the dumpling down into the already cramped contents of his stomach.

 

Moaning, Sherlock tilted his head back. “I’ve changed my mind, John.” He grunted, grinding his hips into John’s thigh. “If I _live_ through eating the rest of this… I want you to _fuck me_ until I can’t breathe.”

 

John's breath caught in his throat at the order, and he aided Sherlock in pressing his thigh against his evidently rather hard cock, providing him friction. He leaned forward, unable to stand the distance any longer, and pressed his lips to Sherlock's in a heated kiss. 

 

He pulled back after barely a few seconds, scooping a spoonful of the chicken up and offering it to the sleuth. "Absolutely, Sherlock. I'm gonna fill you up even _more_ than you are, than you will be when I'm finished feeding you. You'll look so good, spread out for me with that belly preventing you from moving much at all."

 

Sherlock breathed in shallow puffs through his nose, heat settling in his groin and causing a throb to ripple through him. He gave a rather submissive whimper as he allowed John to feed him spoonful after spoonful of the savory chicken. He did everything in his power to distract himself from the pain in his stomach, but eventually had to stop John halfway through.

 

“Drink.” He said thickly, his voice wet from the sauce that had almost closed off his throat entirely. “Need a drink.”

 

John nodded understandingly and kissed Sherlock's forehead in gratitude, in praise for being so good for him. He moved away from him, getting up off the couch and going to the kitchen to get a chilled water bottle from the fridge, returning to sit yet again with their legs entwined, a thigh pressed to his hot erection and stomach touching Sherlock's distended one. He held the bottle out to him, not trusting himself not to spill the stuff all over him. He set about gently pulling his shirt off altogether while they were taking a small break, an appreciative sound leaving his lips.

 

Leaning up as best he could, Sherlock tipped the bottle back so he could drink. Putting on a show for John, he did the same as the rice, swallowing quickly so his stomach swelled out faster. He was approaching the six month pregnant mark at this point, and he stopped to gasp for breath when he was half-finished with the bottle. He handed it to John to set on the table, seeing as if he tried to lean over at this point, there would be no getting back upright.

John let out a shuddering breath as he watched Sherlock drink quickly, his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously as the cool water slid down his throat, extending his belly just that little bit more. He relented from ordering Sherlock to drink the rest, thinking he ought to give him _some_ lenience, and picked up the container of chicken again, first feeding him the very last dumpling. "Not much longer now, Sherlock. You're doing so well, so good for me."

 

Swallowing the dumpling, Sherlock stared at the last of the chicken with a groan. “Your fuck had better be _brilliant_ to make this worth it.” He hissed, his cock twitching wildly in his pants in anticipation for the incredible shag to come.

 

He opened his mouth to invite John to feed him more chicken. He was having difficulty swallowing now, his stomach was trying its hardest to reject every little bit of food he was attempting to cram into it. His sides were aching and his lungs were burning with the inability to breathe deeply, but he continued to swallow. Between each bite he would take a shallow drink of cold water, and it helped the bites of chicken to flow down into his thrumming, churning stomach.

 

“Tell me it’s over soon.” Sherlock gasped, leaning back on his hands as he struggled to breathe.

John began rubbing Sherlock's side gently, knowing he was having real difficulty breathing at this point. "Last one, just this last spoonful, then you're done." He scooped up the last heaping spoonful of chicken and sauce, moving his hand up to the back of his neck as he spooned it into his mouth, peppering kisses over his face and his hair as he chewed and swallowed.

 

Leaning back down on the couch so he was flat on his back, Sherlock did his best to keep from crying with glee.

 

“Over,” he muttered thickly. It looked like he’d decided to swallow an average sized watermelon whole. Round and bottom-heavy, it stuck straight up. His pale skin was stretched so tightly it was almost translucent over his belly. “No fucking yet. Let it settle, or I’ll vomit. Rub… rub it, please.” He whispered breathlessly.

 

John nodded, shifting to let Sherlock lay down properly on the couch, rubbing his hands gently and slowly over his distended belly, filled with delight at how round and large it was. He took his time to caress and admire every centimeter of his swollen flesh. "You look.. _so_ good, Sherlock. You can't know how perfect you are like this."

 

Sherlock moaned weakly, pressing his body up into John’s touch. His belly gurgled madly, protesting his movement, but he continued to grind up against the other man’s hands anyway.

 

“I have to say, John…” Sherlock moaned. “I knew we would end up together eventually – it was inevitable, our chemistry mixed with our personalities – but… I didn’t ever think it would be like _this_.”

 

John hushed him as he pressed up into his touch, pressing a hand to the center of his belly and stopped moving. "Don't move, just lay back, right?"

He listened with a slight smile as he spoke again, continuing to move his hands over his warm, tightly pulled skin. "You, of all people, should know that things never turn out how they're supposed to with us."

 

Sherlock groaned with a weak chuckle, which delved into pained, shallow hiccups. “You’re entirely right.” He paused to hiccup, accompanied by a very loud gurgle. “Ohhh, _John_ … yes, keep rubbing.”

John bit his lip, worried it between his teeth as he watched and listened to Sherlock, fighting to keep quiet so he could hear every hiccup, every gurgle and groan his distended belly gave in protest. He pressed down just slightly, to feel the lack of give, the lack of softness, and continued to rub and caress every inch of his stomach, occasionally letting his fingers scratch lightly over the dark hair visible where his sweats dipped to accommodate. 

 

Sherlock was almost sobbing now, arcing upwards into John’s touch. His hips thrust upwards at nothingness and his face flushed ever darker.

 

“Enough,” he gasped, moaning, “Enough, John, please. I need you. I need you _now._ ”

 

John stopped when he was instructed to and swallowed hard, gaze sliding up his torso to his face. "Where? Where do you want to do this? Here on the couch?" He let his hands slide down, hovering over the waistband of his trousers.

 

“Do you honestly think I could move anywhere in this state?” Sherlock groaned, giving a shallow burp. He pressed both his palms hard into his belly, until he felt nauseous. Groaning again louder, he thrust his hips upwards.  “John, _hurry_.”

 

 

Sherlock hadn’t even considered starting early. But he didn’t particularly like being told what to do. As soon as John disappeared from his sight, he kicked off his trousers – with some difficulty – leaving him completely naked on the couch.

 

He couldn’t exactly reach his cock with his massive middle in the way, so instead he reached over the top and pressed on the bottom of his near-exploding organ. Grinding his body downwards, he was able to press the upperside of his swollen shaft into his rounded middle.

 

Once John had fetched both lubricant and condoms- he was a doctor, safe sex was his nature- He returned to the living room, stopping in his tracks to watch Sherlock attempt to rub himself against his own belly, entirely bare and looking both unbelievably sexy and completely ridiculous.

  
"One day, Sherlock, you'll learn to take orders." He murmured, shedding his bathrobe and moving to sit by his legs, batting his hand away to wrap his own fingers around his erection.

 

“I don’t do what I’m told, John, you know that.” Sherlock purred viciously, grinding his hips into John’s hand as he lifted his hands to roam the doctor’s lightly furred torso.

 

John shuffled closer to Sherlock, holding his hip down with his hand, removing it from his painfully hard cock to do so. He moved closer still, grinding his own erection against the underside of his rounded belly. "Oh, you'll learn, Sherlock."

 

Sherlock grunted, squirming under John’s grip. The doctor was far stronger than Sherlock at the best of times, and at the moment Sherlock was so bloated he could hardly move. He was at John’s mercy.

 

He cried out, tilting his head back as John pressed their cocks next to each other beneath his belly, which shuddered with another gasping hiccup.

John smirked slightly, enjoying having a bit of leverage over the detective. Both of their cocks were leaking precome over Sherlock's stomach at this point, and it made for a truly beautiful sight, in John's opinion.

  
After a long moment of just grinding their erections together against his stomach, John pulled away. He ignored Sherlock's protests and set about spreading his legs apart.

 

Sherlock’s legs spread willingly, pale and open and enthusiastic. His hips jerked down a little bit, trying to encourage John inside him faster. His open legs framed his belly _perfectly_.

 

“John, _please_ ,” he whispered hoarsely, his stomach gurgling loudly to punctuate his words.

 

John's lips parted as he admired Sherlock spread out like this, hugely distended stomach framed by spread legs making him look even more beautifully debauched and lovely.    
John, however, felt that he could make him look even more perfect. He bent Sherlock's knees, bringing his feet closer to his body and murmured soft praise to him, picking up the lubricant and slicking his fingers. "I assume you're not as inexperienced as you're made out to be?"

 

“Hmm, you mean how I told you I’m married to my work?” Sherlock purred, tilting his head to the side and staring at John lustily. “It wasn’t exactly a lie… but you won’t be my first cock, no.”

 

John moved closer to Sherlock again, situating himself between his open legs. He rested one hand over the centre of his belly, rubbing circles, more for himself than for Sherlock. His other hand snaked down between his legs, a single slick finger sliding between unfairly bodacious cheeks. "That all sex is to you, hmm?"

 

Hissing, Sherlock immediately tried to push down onto the finger. “Mmh, so far yes. I’ve never really found anyone who _rocked my world_ , if you know what I mean.” He murmured, trying to coax John’s finger inside.

John took the eagerness positively, pushing just the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscles. "That might've been the most ridiculous thing you've ever said, but yes, I know what you mean. How do you fancy my chances?"

 

“I won’t pass judgment until you’ve _started_ , John.” Sherlock hissed impatiently, making one more futile attempt to take the whole finger inside.

John's eyes crinkled in mirth at Sherlock's impatience, but conceded his point and slid his finger in to the knuckle, tight muscles contracting slightly. "Well, I've not had anyone complain about my performance before, so I suppose we'll find out soon enough whether I can, 'rock your world'."

 

“ _Yessss_ ,”

 

Sherlock felt a shiver ripple through him and nearly broke out into tears. The stretch was minimal, and he was already craving more. Even so, he’d never felt such a rush of excited bliss from any other person he’d shared a bed with.

 

Or in this case, a couch.

 

John sighed a curse under his breath as he watched Sherlock's face contort in bliss. He began gently moving the digit within Sherlock, wishing for all that he was that he could watch Sherlock stretch around his cock already. Unable to help himself, he sporadically pressed down on Sherlock's belly as he sought out his prostate with a doctor's precision.

 

Sherlock shouted now, his whole body jerking. His fingers scrabbled weakly for something to grab onto, and he found himself keening almost like a wild animal.

 

John had located his prostate alright, and he was now massaging it under his fingertip as though it were a small ball of dough. “John, John, John, _John_ ,” Sherlock panted, chanting the other man’s name as bliss rocketed through him. “John, _fuck_ _me already_.” 

 

John moaned quietly as he watched Sherlock writhing in bliss, chanting his name like it was the only word of the English language he knew. He pulled his finger from Sherlock abruptly as he panted the demand, and quickly pushed two fingers into him, giving him a moment to adjust before pushing and pulling from his body steadily, preparing him. "Christ, you look bloody beautiful, you know that? I've never seen anyone look as good as you do right now."

 

“For you, John,” Sherlock moaned, running both his hands up his swollen middle. “All for you, John.”  He cried out when John’s two fingers found his prostate all over again, “Ahh, _Christ_ , John, if you don’t get inside me right now I swear I’ll leave and find someone who will.”

 

John licked his lips and grinned down at Sherlock, pulling his fingers from his body and shuffled forward even more, grabbing a condom and rolling it on. "As if you could actually get up without my help, and I assure you I wouldn't help you go out and find someone else to fuck you. Mine." He smoothed his hand over his distended middle possessively and grabbed the lube.

 

“ _Johnnn…_ ” Sherlock whined, squirming impatiently as he watched the doctor cover himself with a condom, and then smeared a healthy amount of lube over his rubber-sheathed cock. “Do you _have_ to wear one of those dreadful things?” 

"I haven't been tested in a few months, and I don't know whether you have, so yes. You're not going to notice the difference, really." He gave Sherlock a meaningful look, he wouldn't back down on this. He reached for the detective's discarded sweats and stuffed them under his hips for leverage, moaning at the satisfying groan as his stomach was jostled a little.

 

Sherlock felt nauseous for a moment as his bloated form was lifted, before he settled down on the gentle softness of his sweat trousers.

 

“ _Fine_ , I’ll deal this once. Now _gooo_ , John.” 

 

John rolled his eyes at the impatience, but shifted forward, pushing Sherlock's knees up further as he lined himself up, then pushed ever so slowly into Sherlock, a low, throaty moan pulled from his lips. 

 

“Ohhh, _God_ ,” Sherlock grunted loudly, his hips jerking forward and his stomach giving a loud gurgle. “John, _yes_. Yes, _please_.”

 

His head was spinning and his stomach was aching, clashing passionately into blissful pleasure coursing up from his lower half where John’s impressive girth was planted firmly, _deep_ inside him.

 

Sherlock's responses were going straight to his cock, both the sounds coming from his overstuffed belly to the words and grunts he was making in pleasure. John pushed Sherlock's legs closer to his body, mindful that he could still see his stomach in it's entirety, and drew his hips back, sliding almost completely out, only to thrust back in sharply. 

 

The jolt of ecstasy was matched only by the twinge of pain. His knees forced so far apart, Sherlock’s stomach was feeling tighter than ever. Nausea swept over him and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, turning his head to the side. His other hand rushed up to tangle in the soldier’s hair.

 

“John,” he moaned after a moment, grinding his hips downward on the other man’s sweltering cock.

 

John paused a moment when Sherlock pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, worried he might actually throw up. When he didn't, and pushed down onto him, he took it as permission to move again, going slowly rather, long, luxurious thrusts that went deep, accompanied by his own moans. 

 

Sherlock’s stomach gave a wild gurgle every time his body lurched beneath John’s powerful thrusts. Everything was all coming together now, and making it terribly difficult for the paler man to breathe.  
  
He tilted his head back, trying to open his windpipe, and gave a very loud moan. “ _JOHN!_ ” he sobbed when the other man struck his prostate beautifully. He lifted his shoulder and buried his face in the pale flesh, staring out the corner of his lust-drenched eye to look John in the face.

 

John continued to hold Sherlock's legs apart as he thrust steadily into him. His moans and grunts quieted as he listened to every little sound coming from Sherlock, angling his hips to aim for his prostate and grinning down at Sherlock when he was rewarded for his efforts with Sherlock's moans of his name increasing in volume and passion. He caught his eye, staring intensely down at him, hardly blinking as he increased the force of his thrusts. 

 

Sherlock opened his pale eyes to make contact with John’s as he ground his hips downward as hard as his distended middle would allow. He couldn’t move much, his usually excellent hip control was limited due to his bloated stomach.

 

He ran both his hands up his belly, trailing fingers all the way to his nipples, which he proceeded to pinch and roll harshly right before John’s eyes. His breathing was even shallower now as his cock began to arch across the bottom of his belly, threatening to come undone at any second.

 

The sight before him, Sherlock's own fingers working over the pebbled flesh of his nipples, cock bowing slightly over the curve of his belly as he ground down against his cock, was by far the single best scene he'd been permitted to see in all of his life. He had to restrain himself from getting overwhelmed by everything, by Sherlock, (Sherlock was overwhelming as it was, without the added effect of the distention of his stomach and looking utterly debauched) struggling not to come.

  
He lowered his pace, now just a slow roll of his hips though he managed to go deeper still, and he let one of Sherlock's legs go in favor of taking his cock in hand, feeling hard as steel flesh beneath his velvety skin.

 

Sherlock arched again, his hips rocketing upwards as his upper body threw back to compensate for the rigid angle. His fingers scrabbled weakly for purchase, desperately seeking something to hold onto, something to attach to, to keep from floating away.

 

He shivered as John’s rough fingers worked over the tender flesh of his penis, tears running away from the corners of his eyes as he announced his bliss. He couldn’t even begin to contain himself at this point.

 

“ _Harder,_ John, for heaven’s sake, _fuck me_ ,” Sherlock ordered, his insides throbbing and pulsating from lack of friction.

 

John couldn't help but chuckle at the order, shaking his head once and not making any move to change the pace for a long moment, until he was sure he could carry on without the risk of coming abruptly.

  
He shifted slightly, grunting as he moved to get even closer to Sherlock and gain purchase, before slowly building up the force of his thrusts, one hand slowly stroking Sherlock's cock while the other his thigh tight enough to bruise, keeping him still while he fucked into Sherlock.

 

“ _Yes, yes, yes,_ ” Sherlock chanted, turning his head to the side as John nailed him into the couch cushions. His teeth clenched and his body tensed. With every thrust of John’s hips, Sherlock could feel something inside him mounting higher. Like a ball was being nudged slowly off the edge of a cliff, just a few centimeters at a time, rolling closer, closer, closer…

 

And then John _kicked_ the bloody ball.

 

Once sharp punch to his prostate, coupled with both of John’s hands opening wide over Sherlock’s extended middle, and the detective was falling apart at the seams. Screeching like a man possessed, he came and came and came. He was certain he blacked out for just a few seconds, the climax was unlike anything he’d ever experienced sexually in his life. It was like falling in love, headfirst, screaming.

 

Sherlock's screams permeated the flat, probably further than that, but John couldn't find a space in his head to care whether they were disturbing poor Mrs. Hudson or the neighbors, because he watching Sherlock come harder than he'd ever seen a person come before, thick ropes of his release painting his beautiful belly.

  
A few more hard, messy thrusts later, perhaps a half dozen, and John was coming hard into Sherlock, shoulders hunching as he curled over him, a low groan leaking through clenched teeth. If he'd been able to think a single thought in that moment, it would have been to curse the bit of latex between them that kept his come from filling Sherlock up.

 

Sherlock lay completely spent as the atmosphere around them gently glided back into tranquility. Sherlock had delved back into shallow hiccups, his body bouncing every time his chest jerked. His eyes were half-lidded and staring blankly at the couch cushion beside him, totally unable to focus his eyes even if he wanted to.

 

His fingers gently unclenched from where they’d been digging crescents into his palms, and he could almost hear them creak.

His whole body began to gently come apart. His thighs released, his toes uncurled, his shoulders slouched, his head fell back. Finally, after a long moment, pale irises traced past his own bloated middle and up John’s stocky form to his face, in order to look him directly in the eye.

 

Hands drifted up and pulled John down by his jaw, thumbs caressing temples as Sherlock kissed his flatmate tiredly.

 

John felt and saw every single one of Sherlock's muscles relax and lose tension dejectedly, chest still heaving as he came down from the high slowly. He let Sherlock pull him down, hands either side of his face, and kissed back gently, tenderly, the rush of the moment gone to be replaced by tranquility and tiredness.

  
He slid out from Sherlock carefully, pulling the condom off and tying the end to keep his come from leaking out as he dropped it to the floor for the moment, moving back from Sherlock to blink at him slowly and then stand from the couch on slightly shaky legs.  
In one surprisingly fluid movement, he slid one arm under Sherlock's legs and the other under his shoulders, lifting the languid man from the couch and heading for his room.

 

Sherlock groaned as he wrapped his arms around John’s neck. His round middle made it uncomfortable for him to bend, so they had to turn sideways to get him through the door. He was set on the softness of his own bed, the springs creaking beneath him – he was about five pounds heavier than usual after all.

 

“Mmh, John,” Sherlock moaned as the other man lay beside him. Turning on his side, his belly resting wide on the bed beside him, he began to trace formless patterns across John’s bare chest. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

 

"I'll eat later." He murmured off handedly, his hand moving to slide over Sherlock's belly, it seemed impossibly larger now that he was on his side. It was a beautiful sight.

  
When his fingers came into contact with Sherlock's release over the underside of his stomach, he spent a few moments deliberating getting up and retrieving a wash cloth, before deciding against it and shifting down the bed, moving Sherlock's thighs away from his body so he could clean his come away with his tongue.

 

Sherlock’s toes curled and his back bowed almost imperceptibly, his fingers moving to thread lazily through John’s hair. His stomach burbled pleasantly at his touch, and he could _feel_ it churn beneath his tongue.

 

John continued to lick slowly and luxuriously over his belly until his seed was long gone, and then continued to lick a bit more simply because he could and he was there.  
He hummed softly when he was finished, wriggling back up the bed until he was face to face with Sherlock once more, smoothing his hand over his stomach, rubbing gentle circles. "How do you feel?"

 

“Mmh, sleepy.” Sherlock moaned, his eyelids feeling very heavy. “Feels nice… when you rub like that. Mmmh, I’m thinking… maybe next time… it’ll be _you_ who eats five pounds of food at once. I’d like to see that.” He hiccupped again, his body bouncing on the covers.

John bit his lip to keep from smiling too much as Sherlock's eyes drifted shut, humming in acknowledgement to his words as he did as instructed and kept stroking and rubbing his settling stomach, until his hiccups were reduced to slow, almost even breathing, and it was evident that Sherlock had drifted off to sleep. He stopped rubbing, leaving his hand there on stretched skin and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, settling in and closing his eyes.

 

 


End file.
